


Face to Face

by izazov



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Codependency, Emotional Manipulation, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Post-Canon, Pseudo-Incest, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6285964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor and Loki find themselves attending the same masked feast. Not at all by chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Face to Face

Loki lifted the goblet with wine to his lips, hiding a grin behind its rim when he felt the first touch of magic slid across his skin: soft and tender like a touch of butterfly wings, coaxing an involuntary shudder from him.

Taking a quick glance of his surrounding – a fairly redundant gesture considering how little care everyone present displayed for anything save the carnal pulse of lust within their blood, strengthened by liquor and the low, sultry beat of music drifting seemingly from nowhere and everywhere at once – Loki flicked his wrist. His fingers glowed green for a sliver of a moment; a sensation not unlike sinking into a pool of cool water washed over him, barring him from the effects of the spell that was now draping itself across the skin of every masked attendant of the feast, and slowly, ever so slowly seeping into their already heated blood.

In truth, the spell was rather harmless. Not nearly as strong – or malevolent, for that matter – as to tamper with one’s will, but merely provide an additional incentive to heeding the call that, by now, thrummed within each body slowly undulating to the beat of the music. However, despite the relative harmlessness of the spell, Loki has made it a point to avoid any such indulgence.

And besides, Loki hardly needed it: he was viscerally aware of the anticipation coiled deep within his belly, and his skin prickled with near electrical thrill: it was not very different from standing in the very heart of a raging storm.

Loki wondered, with faint interest, were the attendants of the feast even somewhat aware of the invisible web of magic that was woven across the entire great hall, deciding that, in the end, it mattered little. Enjoyment and thrill of the unknown and forbidden was the lure that has led each and every man and woman to this hall on this night.

Loki was somewhat an anomaly in that regard. He had come to this feast seeking the thrill of tasting the forbidden, but not the unknown. He knew exactly whose body he wanted to press down onto his own, whose hands and lips and teeth he wanted to feel descend upon his naked skin with fury and passion alike.

Loki swallowed thickly; his throat felt almost unbearably dry, raw with want. Heat pooled low in his stomach, his cock giving a faint twitch in the confines of his leggings. His blood ran heated with hunger and need he knew were foolish and pathetic; just another pair of shackles chaining him to the past he would gladly burn to cinders were he able.

But Loki could not, and if he were to burn instead he saw no reason to do so alone. 

Loki licked his lips; they tasted like the wine he has been drinking the entire evening: sweet, with only a hint of bitterness. The wine was exquisite, Loki could not deny it, but its taste was not the one Loki craved having upon his tongue.

And by the end of the night, Loki vowed to himself, he would have that what he sought. One way or another.

Loki glanced toward the imposing figure standing close to the stairs leading toward the open balcony doors, easily dwarfing everyone in the hall by at least a head. Like a bright and shining beacon, it drew covetous gazes with effortless ease. Ever the centre of everyone’s attention. Even here, where anonymity was greater part of the trill; the allure of the unknown and potentially dangerous working its own magic within the minds of everyone present, no less potent than the one cast upon this hall. 

But that has always been the way of things: even before he had become king of Asgard, Thor shone brighter than the sun, and twice as beautiful. And equally self-centered and blind in his arrogance; never once stopping to think who might get burned stepping too close to him. Thor has ever laughed when Loki had made a mention of it – before, in the days when Loki still had the rights to Thor’s trust and affection – what fault lay with him for what others held within their hearts? As if it were so simple; as if a moth could ever deny the call of a flame, drawing it ever nearer to its doom. And when it was all done, and the poor foolish moth was no more than a charred lump on the ground, it would have only one regret: that it had but one pair of wings to sacrifice.

Loki should know this, he still bore the burns in that hollow place within his chest where he could feel his heart beating. 

Thor collected people’s hearts like one would pebbles from a shore: without much effort and concern, always seeking more. He was still in possession of a fragment of Loki’s heart, and Loki hated him for it: fiercely, unwisely, and completely. Much the same as he loved him still. 

Grimacing, Loki forced his gaze away from Thor. He was not here for the folly that festered within his heart; stubborn as it was pathetic. What he sought was pleasure, base and carnal, and if he tarnished some of Thor’s light in the process… well, Midgardians did have that wonderfully apt saying about gift horse’s mouth. 

Loki tilted his head in consideration, his gaze sweeping over flushed cheeks and bright gazes, gleaming from within eye-slits of a rather colourful assortment of masks everyone was wearing. The feast was slowly, but surely, growing progressively physical: the occasional brief touches were now shifting into lingering caresses, growing bolder by the second.

Loki threw a glance toward the winding staircase at the far end of the hall. Soon, one by one, the couples – mostly, but not necessarily – would begin to climb the stairs, intent on reaching the relative privacy of the chambers on the upper floor. Relative in the manner that every chamber was furnished with a rather large bed, but neither had a door.

His reputation notwithstanding, Loki was perfectly capable of giving credit where it was due, and the host of this feast certainly deserved it; anyone willing to invite the king of Asgard to a feast that was just shy of an orgy deserved Loki’s sympathy. Granted, Loki had played a certain part in arranging the invite, but still. Without the Alfar’s aid, Loki would have never found himself this close to Thor, and the possibility of having Thor’s hands on him in a decidedly more pleasurable manner than the last time they had faced each other. It took months for the bruise Thor had left on his chest to fade away. Loki wondered how long it had taken for the cut on Thor’s abdomen to heal. 

If everything went according to Loki’s plans – it might not, Thor has become annoyingly obstinate in his resolve not to be easily manipulated – before the first light of dawn both Thor and he should sport a wide array of new bruises, made not by a fickle hammer or a magic dagger but hungry mouths and greedy fingers. 

Taking another sip of wine, Loki slowly backed deeper into the shadows of the massive hall, until he found a relatively solitary place, and leaned against a massive marble pillar. His gaze, predictably, slid toward Thor, as if drawn there by force greater than Loki’s will. Gleeful anticipation bubbled within Loki’s chest, speeding up his heart rate, and shortening his breath.

Loki remembered this sensation well: it dragged to the forefront of his mind memories of fumbling but eager hands and inexperienced mouths, of hidden touches and stolen kisses. It had been so laughably easy to step cross the forbidden line that separated brothers from lovers, for both of them. Neither Thor nor Loki had spared it even glance as they tumbled over it and into each other’s arms.

In hindsight, Loki knew it for the mistake that it was. Not for the obvious reason, though. Loki would have never denied himself the pleasure of having been the sole focus of Thor’s considerable passion, allowing Thor to claim him in the most intimate manner, purely for morality’s sake. 

It has been years since Thor last had his hands on Loki in such manner, and even longer since his touch was meant to be gentle, almost reverent, as it used to be. The last time Thor took him had been against a wall of an abandoned warehouse on Midgard of all places, Thor growling his release against Loki’s collarbone in a manner that was as resentful as it was furious; two weeks after _that_ encounter Loki still wore bruises on his thighs, matching perfectly the shape of Thor’s fingers.

In the end, it mattered little. Whether Thor took him with great care and whispering sentimental foolishness into the skin of Loki’s neck, or with bitter resentment and muffling the sounds of his pleasure by closing his teeth over Loki’s collarbone, they were chained to one another. Whatever the poison that still remained inside Loki’s blood, it coursed through Thor’s veins as well.

And Loki was no longer willing to suffer through the incessant pressure within the hollow of his chest, demanding relief and distracting him from important matters, simply because Thor had decided to finally exercise restraint.

It was wretchedly inconvenient that it was _this_ particular matter Thor deemed worthy of his meagre self-control.

_Or not so meagre_ , a little voice inside Loki’s mind taunted, _considering the spectacular failure that was your last attempt at tempting him into fucking you._

A light touch upon his elbow drew Loki’s thoughts back to the present. He blinked, forced his face to relax; silencing that traitorous voice within his mind. 

Beside him stood a woman; one of the Alfar, judging by the fair skin and shape of her ears. She was tall and slim, dressed in a grey silken dress that hugged her body like second skin, only a touch lighter than the colour of her hair, flowing freely down the middle of her back. She wore a black mask, made to resemble a cat-like beast. 

“Surely you have not come here to stand in the shadows by yourself?” she asked softly, her fingers slowly running up Loki’s upper arm, her pale-blue eyes bright with lust.

Loki turned to face her, a small smile curving in the corners of his lips. It would have been so easy to pull her behind this pillar and lift her off the ground, and take her then and there. It was what he ought to have done: she was beautiful and willing and uncomplicated-

And _not_ who Loki craved; past reason and caution. She was not _Thor_.

Loki wrapped his fingers around her wrist, ending the slow glide of her fingers down his chest.

“That would have been a grave offence to our host were it true,” Loki said. He lifted her fingers to his lips, smiling softly. “I am waiting for someone.”

“We could wait together,” she whispered, leaning close, close enough Loki could feel the heat of her breath on his neck.

Loki chuckled softly. Then, he released her hand and stepped back. “That is… a tempting offer, my Lady, but the one I am waiting for doesn’t like to share.”

Loki could see her lashes flutter in confusion and disappointment. A moment later she tilted her head, and came closer, a low sound of amusement falling from her lips. “Even in this place?”

“It is a character flaw, I am afraid,” Loki said. “One of many.”

She considered Loki’s face one moment, her eyes appearing sharper, clearer. Absurdly, Loki felt exposed, as if this stranger’s gaze could see past all his considerable masks, not merely the plain golden one he wore on his face. Then, she drew back. “I wish you good night then, my fair stranger,” she said in a low voice. “I would never presume to interfere with love.”

Loki blinked, startled. It took him an inordinate amount of will to keep a smile on his lips, as if his throat was not full of bile, and his chest did not throb with hollow ache that was as much longing as it was resentment.

Loki bade her farewell with an incline of his head, not trusting his own voice to stay firm. His gaze followed her as she turned and left Loki’s solitary corner, soon getting lost in the sea of bodies, her claim echoing within the confines of Loki’s, growing progressively louder.

_Love._

A simplistic, overly sentimental notion that came nowhere near to explaining what he felt for Thor. Perhaps it would have been simpler if he were in love with his once brother, lounging by his feet, and waiting on the scraps of his attention like a slobbering beast. If nothing else, it would have been a carefree existence; Thor has always been kind to his pets.

Loki did not notice his nails digging into the flesh of his palms until he felt a tiny pinprick of pain as his skin stretched taut, close to breaking. Loki glanced down, his face drawn into a grimace of disgust. He exhaled deeply, forcing his fingers to relax. A low curse escaped Loki’s mouth. It was maddening, that Thor could drive him to distraction by simply existing.

No more, though. Not tonight. Loki could not afford it. It was a stroke of luck Thor was visiting Alfheim at the same time as Loki. And it was a near miracle he had acquiesced to attending this feast. This feast was the best chance Loki has had in a long time to get what he desired, and he was damned if he would allow a pathetic weakness within him, the one that refused to wither and die, to foil his plans.

And as entertaining as it had been to observe Thor unseen and unhindered, Loki was not here to merely watch. 

When Loki’s gaze sought Thor again, it was to find him at the exact same spot, conversing with two Alfar women. Loki wondered what would all these men and women, gathered here from all corners of Alfheim and beyond, say should they learn that the king of Asgard had graced them with his presence.

One did not need to have an overly active imagination to foretell the ensuing… _enthusiasm_.

Although, Loki noted with faint amusement, Thor has made no attempt to appear regal: dressed in simple black breeches and dark-red sleeveless tunic. He, too, wore a mask. Much like Loki’s, Thor’s mask was of simple design, framing merely his eyes. The only difference was the colour: Thor’s mask was silver-coloured.

Loki, of course, could not hear the words Thor exchanged with the Alfar women. Not that he needed to: the way the taller one leaned toward Thor, her fingers sliding across the ridiculous muscles of Thor’s upper arm Thor oh so enjoyed flaunting before the world, while her companion looked upon Thor with unveiled hunger while they conversed, were impossible to misinterpret.

Loki gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing faintly. His stomach clenched in a way that was not even remotely pleasant. He felt near physical urge to cast a curse that would turn those long fingers caressing Thor into talons, and watch as they tore into golden skin, marring, however briefly, its perfection.

Loki exhaled a shaky breath, annoyance welling inside his throat. He looked away, swallowing thickly. He was not a fool to think that all these years Thor has retired to an empty bed, staring at the darkness of the royal bedchamber, with his fingers wrapped around his erect length, and Loki’s name on his lips. Thor has always been a physical person, guided by the beat of his blood rather than reason, and with no care for temperance.

Still. Knowing something to be true, and watching it unfold before his own eyes were two entirely different matters.

Straightening, Loki flexed his fingers, resigned to having to deal with the unfortunate obstacle to his plans, but when he gazed at Thor he found him alone, withdrawing closer to the stairs.

Loki blinked, confusion settling upon his features. It was difficult to reconcile the man Loki knew with the sight he saw before him: a still figure, standing on the edge of the laughing crowd when once he would have been its bright, joyful centre. He stared at Thor one long moment, suspicion creeping up from the outskirts of his mind.

Why had Thor come to this feast?

A thought – impossible and absurd – occurred to Loki then. Loki drew a sharp hiss of breath, felt the rush of thrill slide down his spine and coil low in his stomach, hastening his heart rate.

_What if Thor knew?_

Loki’s feet moved, guiding him forward before the echo of his last thought had died down. He strode forward, his eyes fixed on Thor, the rush of his pulse in his ears growing louder as he drew closer to Thor, aware – bitterly, hopelessly – that even if he were certain this was some misguided attempt at apprehending him, he would not have fled this place.

Loki wondered, with grim amusement, did that make him more or less a pathetic moth, rushing toward his doom. 

Loki was almost half way to his destination when he halted his steps and changed his route, his lips curving into a grin. He avoided two pair of hands reaching after him, manoeuvring deftly through a crowd of writhing bodies, ignoring their laughter and gleaming eyes, focused only on the primal beat of his own blood, and the blonde head, standing above all rest.

Loki emerged from the crowd a step behind Thor, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before him: broad shoulders, muscled arms, thick thighs. It was profoundly unfair that, with all other blessings bestowed upon him, Thor should look like _that_ : a perfectly chiselled marble sculpture that has been granted life.

The surge of pure, naked hunger all but stole Loki’s breath, blazing a path along his nerve endings: it was pathetic, and dangerous, and foolish, and Loki would tear apart anyone who would dare to come between them now.

“Hello, Thor,” Loki said, pitching his voice low and sultry. “Have you missed me?”

Thor went utterly still for no more than one intake of breath, but long enough so Loki could feel a pang of regret at missing seeing Thor’s eyes, and his first and unguarded reaction to Loki’s appearance.

For a long time, against all odds and reason, it had been a wonder.

Then, Thor spun around in one swift, fluid movement, and Loki was able to see his eyes. And the fury that blazed within their depths.

“Loki,” Thor growled, his voice thick with anger and resentment. He made as if to take a step forward, but Loki backed away, rising his hands in a placating gesture.

“Peace, Thor. I am not here with ill intent,” Loki said, as calmly as he could manage while his throat constricted around far too many conflicting emotions.

It earned him a disdainful curve of Thor’s mouth, and a low sound of contempt tumbling out of Thor’s mouth. It should not have caused a pang of hurt in the middle of his chest – of course Thor mistrusted him; even he had to learn sometimes – and yet, it had.

“There is no space for anything but ill intent inside your twisted mind, Loki,” Thor said, bitter resentment heavy in his voice. His assessing gaze swept quickly across the gathered crowd, before it returned, weighted heavily with barely leashed fury. “And I have grown tired of trying to reason with you.”

Loki tensed, ignored another pathetic twist of his heart. He had not come here seeking absolution and forgiveness, he had no desire for either. But it was becoming increasingly apparent by the hard look in Thor’s eyes that he might not get that what he did desire. As much as it pained him to admit desiring anything from Thor.

Unless he somehow managed to turn Thor’s righteous fury into something more… malleable. 

“Ah, yes, I do seem to recall Mjölnir’s gentle touch from our last encounter,” Loki said, wryly.

Thor’s eyes remained hard, unapologetic; blazing dangerously behind the mask. It bothered Loki for some reason; the mask. It did not belong on Thor’s face. His fingers twitched with irrational need to tug the damned thing off Thor’s face and rip it to shreds. Loki curled his fingers into a loose fist, unwilling to risk taking his eyes off Thor’s face even for a second. 

“And I seem to recall you laughing to my face when I asked you stand down,” Thor said. There was a fierce scowl on his face, not in the least lessened by the mask he wore.

Loki’s lips curled upward, threatening to form a sneer. “Your magnanimous offer of indefinitely allocating one of Asgard’s cell to my personal use had somehow failed to inspire much enthusiasm,” Loki said, sharp and mocking despite his effort to reign in his bitterness. He swallowed a curse when he saw Thor’s body tensing, and a quick glance at Thor’s right hand – fingers opening and closing around a shaft of an invisible weapon – only confirmed how close to failure he was. He needed to provoke Thor, yes; but he was closer to provoking him into a battle than something far pleasurable.

Loki backed another step, rising his hands. A small glimmer of green swirled around his fingers. Thor’s gaze flicked down instantly, lingered there a brief moment. When he returned his gaze up to Loki’s face, his eyes have narrowed further, their colour turning from clear blue to leaden grey. But he made no move to attack.

“I have told you the truth,” Loki said, calm and steady and soft. Thor’s jaw twitched, his lips forming an angry line. “I have not come here to harm anyone.” Loki paused, waited a moment to allow the words to sink in. “Are you truly willing to place all these innocents in danger only because you are far too stubborn to accept the truth?”

A low growl tore from Thor’s throat. Then, with his fists raised menacingly, he made a step forward, and… stopped. A shudder shook his entire massive frame, his chest rising and falling in quick panting breaths, but his eyes were that which held Loki immobile surer than shackles could. For a moment, brief, fleeting moment, Loki was certain he saw past Thor’s fury and resentment, and into a place inside him where hope lay bleeding among the shattered pieces of trust and love. 

Loki was aware of the embarrassing – and quite dangerous – tardiness of his own reaction to Thor’s aborted attack; aware of the bitter and angry voice inside his head that whispered of dungeons and idiocy and pathetic sentimentality. Loki was aware there was nothing but truth to the claims of that voice, and Loki wanted to heed its warnings and cut his loses, if only he could remember how to _breathe_. 

“Truth? Do not dare say that word again,” Thor snarled, his voice coming out rough and jagged. He paused, his gaze sweeping over Loki with unveiled disdain. Loki could see his throat work as he swallowed, his lips curled over bared teeth. “What do you know of truth? Every word that comes out of your mouth is drenched in lies and mockery.”

Loki blinked, felt the weight of Thor’s contempt hit like a physical blow. He breathed through clenched teeth, the pulsating beat of his heart thudded like a war drum in his ears. His gaze swept across Thor’s face, noting the angry gleam of blue eyes and the derisive curl of plush lips. Then it skidded down, following the tense line of broad shoulders, catching the faint twitch of muscles straining with effort of holding back.

There was nothing about Thor that ought to incite even a glimmer of hope that Loki would have his desires met; a fool could see that. Coming near Thor now was like poking a sleeping dragon with a sharp stick: foolish, reckless, and there was not a force in the Nine Realms that could stop Loki from doing so. 

With his eyes locked on Thor’s, he stepped forward, holding his hands spread where Thor could see them while every beat of his heart spelled a single word.

_Fool._

“Not all I have said to you had been a lie,” Loki said, watched the muscle in Thor’s jaw twitch, heard him release a sharp hiss of breath. He halted when he stepped into Thor’s personal space, tilted his head to the side. His pulse raced wildly, but his voice remained steady and calm. “In fact, you can have another truth if you so wish.” Loki paused, lowered his hands slowly. Thor’s eyes followed closely Loki’s gesture, suspicion bleeding into his gaze. Loki allowed himself a small smile. “The truth of why I am here. You need only ask.”

Thor blinked. Then, he surprised Loki by releasing sharp bark of laughter. “You still think me a fool who would fall easily for your games,” he said, cool and mocking. He held himself silent a moment, his lips twisting into a bitter smile, tinted with a hint of something almost sorrowful. Loki cursed silently cursed that damned mask, now more than ever wanting it off Thor’s face. “If you think so poorly of me, you should not think the same of yourself. You were a fine tutor, Loki, and I have finally learned my lesson.”

Loki swallowed the pungent taste Thor’s words have left in his mouth, but kept his voice purposely soft when he spoke, “Am I to assume, then, you do not care for the reason I am here?”

Loki patiently waited for Thor to come to the inevitable conclusion. He watched Thor’s face closely, careful to keep his own – what was visible of it, at least – void of even a hint of triumph. Thor might have gotten better at matching wits with him, but when such day should come that Thor would be his equal in _this_ , that would be the day Loki marched willingly into his old cell back on Asgard.

Thor held himself silent, glaring at Loki. Loki counted the seconds. He managed to swallow a grin when Thor’s body went rigid, and the fury in his eyes was replaced by startled disbelief. The anger blazed back to life a mere moment later, fuelled by helpless frustration, but Loki knew he had won.

When Thor reached for him, his fingers wrapping with punishing strength around Loki’s upper arms, and pulled him forward, Loki allowed it, keeping his hands loose by his sides.

“I have no patience for your spite and malice,” Thor growled, shaking Loki hard. Then, as if he remembered where they were, he stopped, exhaling a shaky breath, but did not relinquish his hold on Loki. Or made it any less painful. Loki could not suppress a shiver at the feeling of heat that emanated from Thor’s body; shiver that had nothing to do with the anger that was spelled across every line and every tense muscle of Thor’s face and body. Something heavy unwound within Loki’s chest; a weight that has been wedged there for far too long, making it seem infinitely lighter. Loki went utterly still, the implications of the… _sensation_ – warm and light – that spread through the hollow of his chest frightened him infinitely more than the dark glint in Thor’s eyes. “Nor do I have need of it. What I wish from you I need only take.”

Loki ignored the flash of pain following the tightening of Thor’s already bruising grip, his stomach twisting with glee, a smirk forming in the corner of his lips. Perhaps, not all was lost.

“You would rather take by force that what has been offered freely?” Loki said, his voice low and husky. He watched with baited breath as Thor blinked in confusion, his expression drawing into a frown, plain on Thor’s face despite the wretched mask. Then, as the realization struck, Loki heard him draw a startled hiss of breath, as if only now he had become aware how intimately their bodies were touching; how not only lies, resentment and betrayal chained their destinies together. Thor swallowed heavily, his eyes blazing with fire that was not even close to fury as they flicked toward Loki’s mouth. “I did not know your tastes have changed that much, Thor.”

In the next moment Loki found himself staggering back as Thor released his hold on him as if burned.

“Keep your poison to yourself,” Thor growled, his voice rough with anger… but not only that. His eyes seemed almost panicked, his breathing shallow and harsh, as if he only now realized how thick with lust and desire the air in this place was. Loki wondered, faintly, did the magic finally begin to affect him, or was it only the memories of how much pleasure they could coax from each other’s bodies. “And curb that wretched tongue.”

“Oh, but I seem to recall you appreciating my tongue,” Loki drawled in a low voice, grinning unabashedly. “Surely you remember, do you not?”

Thor did.

It was evident from the way he opened his mouth only to snap it shut when no word came out. Loki speculated whether or not Thor was recalling all those times he had spent moaning ‘Loki’, or whimpered ‘please’ as Loki traced the vein on the underside of his cock with his tongue. Loki hoped he did.

“What game are you playing now?” Thor demanded when he finally found his voice, rough and jagged as it were.

“No game,” Loki said, his voice falsely innocent, and stepped forward. For a second Thor appeared as if he considered backing away from Loki. Loki wanted to howl with laughter. “And to prove it, I will grant you the answer as to why I am here.”

Thor stared at him dubiously. “Nothing you do or say comes without a price.” 

Loki half-shrugged, took another step. “You could say I am in a generous mood. I suppose,” Loki paused, glancing at the other attendants of the feast. He had almost forgotten where they were, all his attention focused on dealing with Thor, reducing all else to insignificant noise at the edge of his thoughts. With a cursory sweep of his gaze, Loki could see that the hall was now occupied by a significantly less guests, and those still remaining were just shy of copulating on the floor. He smiled, his eyes lingering on the sight before him. “The atmosphere of this place had inspired it in me.”

When he glanced back at Thor, he caught him staring at a couple a few feet away; the woman had her hand inside the man’s leggings, while his mouth slowly inched its way down her neck, and toward her breasts. 

When Thor dragged his gaze back to Loki, Loki could see him flinch inadvertently: Loki now stood directly in front of him, having used Thor’s momentary distraction to come closer. In answer to Thor’s defiant silence Loki very deliberately glanced at Thor’s crotch. “It is a lovely feast, wouldn’t you agree, Thor?”

Thor’s eyes were dark, stormy, glaring at Loki with a heady mixture of fury, desire and resentment. He did not acknowledge Loki’s taunt, but he looked not in the least bothered by his obvious arousal. “And why _are_ you here?” Thor asked instead; contemptuous and challenging in equal measure.

“I would think it a better question why the king of Asgard should be found in a place as… well, colourful as this,” Loki said, his voice light, conversational.

Thor let out a low sound of disdain. “I go where it pleases me,” Thor retorted. “Unlike you, I have not made enemies of entire realms.”

Loki swallowed an amused snort. Not entire realms, no. But there were many who would rejoice in seeing Thor breathe his last breath. A cold shiver ran down Loki’s spine, his chest tightening uncomfortably at the thought of Thor’s eyes void of light, of fire, of _life_.

Loki shook his head, cleared his head of such ridiculous thoughts: Thor was far too good at bashing into the ground those who met him on the field of battle, and far too stubborn to die.

And he was here, within Loki’s reach: alive and beautiful in his fury; in his passion.

Loki lifted his right hand, unthinking, but before his fingers could reach the soft fabric of Thor’s tunic, Thor captured his wrist. One moment, neither moved; Thor holding onto Loki’s wrist with ungentle fingers, and Loki allowing it, faintly amused how his own hand now stood as a shield between their bodies. Loki could not decide what he relished more: the sensation of Thor’s fingers on his skin, or Thor’s rapidly declining self-control.

“Is this the truth you offer?” Thor sneered, his eyes boring into Loki’s; as if by sheer will alone he could see inside Loki’s mind. He gripped Loki’s wrist harder; hard enough for Loki to grit his teeth against a pained hiss. “You are nothing but a vi-”

“You,” Loki cut him off before Thor could remember himself fully, before the words like ‘betrayal’ and ‘traitor’ could turn the fire in his blood back to righteous indignation. “You are the reason why I am here.”

Thor’s eyes widened in startled surprise. Loki did not allow Thor time to think, for surprise to turn into suspicion; he closed the remaining distance between them, splaying the fingers of his free hand over Thor’s chest, feeling his heart beat strong, if not steady, underneath.

“I have missed you,” Loki said, the truth sleeping easily from his mouth. Partly, he suspected, because he was certain Thor would not take it such. He allowed himself a shadow of a grin. “Have you missed me?”

A snarl of outrage tore from Thor’s throat, his fingers wrapping around Loki’s other wrist and squeezing hard. But, Loki noted with no small amount of satisfaction, despite his fury and outrage, instead of pushing Loki away, Thor pulled him closer. It was taking an inordinate amount of control not to grind his hips against Thor’s, but Loki forced himself under control: one small misstep and everything would be ruined.

“I have warned you about my lack of patience for your games, Loki,” Thor ground out.

“It is amusing how you are always more amenable to believing my lies than my truths,” Loki said. Thor’s nostrils flared. An involuntary hiss of pain escaped Loki’s lips when Thor’s fingers clenched harder, grinding the bones of Loki’s wrists together. Annoyance rose from the pit of Loki’s stomach when Thor did not as much as blink, let alone loosened his grip. Loki masked it with a grin. “And you have yet to answer my question.”

A low, mirthless laughter spilled from Thor’s lips. “Missed you? I have missed you, Loki,” Thor said, his voice bitter and sharp. “Like a healthy man would miss a malady.”

Thor’s words… _stung_ , much more than Loki cared to admit. Even to himself. He swallowed heavily, tasting bile upon his tongue. He forced himself to hold very still.

“Then it seems I have made a mistake,” Loki said, voice low and flat. He kept his gaze trained on Thor’s eyes so he did not miss a flash of uncertainty in his gaze. Then, he glanced down pointedly at where Thor still held his wrists. “If you would be so kind as to release me so I could be on my way.”

Thor’s eyes hardened instantly. “And why should I heed your demand, Loki?” Thor asked flatly. “So you could continue spreading misery all through the realms for no other reason than spite?”

Loki’s lips curled into a smile. His insides were quivering with a heady mixture of fury and helpless frustration, and something that resembled shame far too much for Loki’s peace of mind. If Thor truly thought Loki would simply allow himself to be dragged back to Asgard in chains… well, he was in for a nasty surprise in that case. “I have told you nothing but truth, Thor,” Loki said, keeping his voice soft. Thor tensed against him, suspicion and caution entering his eyes. “I am not here to harm anyone. In fact, I am here for the exact same reason as everyone else.” Loki paused, relishing the way Thor flinched, then swallowed thickly. “And since you have no interest in indulging me, I will have to find someone else to fuck me.”

The crude words drew a feral growl from Thor’s mouth, his eyes turning ferocious. He tried to yank Loki even closer, but found it impossible while he held Loki’s wrists trapped between their bodies. He tried once more, but with no success. Then, with a sound of impatience, Thor released Loki’s wrists and fisted his hands into Loki’s tunic, dragging him flush against his chest. “If you think I will simply allow you to walk away,” Thor growled, wrapping the fingers of his right hand around Loki’s throat in a loose grip: a warning. Loki stood still and silent in the face of Thor’s wrath, returning his heated glare with a cool one of his own. “More the fool you.”

Loki held himself silent, and deliberately still. He had his eyes fixed on Thor’s, noting every shift and flicker of a dozen emotions inside: anger and bitterness, but also hunger and desire, and possessive jealousy.

“You cannot refuse me _and_ deny me the right to seek my pleasure elsewhere, Thor,” Loki pointed out, mildly. Thor’s fingers shivered against Loki’s skin, squeezed harder, not enough to cut off Loki’s air supply, just enough to make his breathing somewhat… uncomfortable. Loki ignored the instinctive twitch of his, now free, hands; forcing them to remain loose by his sides. He swallowed heavily, then forced back a smirk when Thor’s thumb moved against the side of his throat – slowly, gently, an almost caress. “Choose one.”

“As usual you greatly overestimate yourself,” Thor said, his voice low and dangerous. Thor’s face was close enough so Loki could feel each of those words as a warm exhale against his own face. Thor’s grip remained unyielding against Loki’s throat, but his thumb kept its light, circular motion against the skin of Loki’s throat. Loki wondered was Thor even aware of he was doing it. “I care not who you allow into your bed,” Thor said in the same tone of voice. But there was a strain to it; a sharp, proprietary edge Thor could not hide. “I care only for the next ploy that festers in that twisted mind of yours.”

“And you are still a poor liar, Thor,” Loki countered. Thor’s fingers squeezed harder; their grip turning punishing, bruising: cutting off Loki’s breath and inciting a momentary flare of panic in the pit of Loki’s stomach. Thor loosened his grip after a few more seconds, his lips curling into a vicious grin.

Loki drew in a deep breath, his pulse racing wildly, and only partially out of fear. His fingers itched with the need to tear through the fabric of Thor’s tunic and into the skin underneath, to see blood mar that golden skin, to trace it with his lips and tongue. That was what Loki sought: passion and violence and fury. And _this_ Thor, the one who did not pretend restraint and temperance, but was as much a beast as any he had ever hunted – a truly magnificent golden beast, but a beast nonetheless – could give him precisely that.

A memory rose, unbidden, from the depths of Loki’s mind: Thor’s face, but much younger, hovering above Loki’s, his eyes wide and unguarded, filled with awe and warmth and love, his thumb gentle against Loki’s cheekbone, his jaw, his lower lip. His breath came out shallow and panting, his mouth parted around a strangled sound that was part moan and part invocation of Loki’s name; and Loki did not care, _could_ not care for anything save the drag of his brother’s length inside him, the blazing pain pleasure of it, and Thor, Thor, _Thor_ …

Loki forced the memory back into the darkness of his mind where it belonged, but the sensation of it lingered, leaving him shaken, and his chest hollow and cold. His breathing was shallow and strained, and it had nothing with Thor’s grip. And yet, much to Loki’s surprise, Thor’s loosened his grip further, until his fingers were simply… _there_ ; a warm and solid presence, his thumb resting over the pulse point on Loki’s neck.

“Liar?” Thor repeated, the almost cruel twist of his mouth softening into amusement. “An interesting accusation coming from your mouth, Loki.”

Loki’s lips split into a wolfish grin. “I see,” he said, keeping his voice barely above a whisper – soft and deliberately sultry. Thor stiffened against him, but otherwise remained utterly still; the only exception was the way his throat worked as he swallowed. He did not move even when Loki leaned forward, not much, just enough so their breathes could mingle in the small space between their faces. He remained like that a few moments, until he felt a faint shiver in the fingers resting against his neck. Then, Loki pulled back. “So you wouldn’t mind if I walked upstairs to one of the rooms with a man? If I stripped myself nude and knelt before him?” Loki paused, watching as Thor’s eyes went dark with lust and jealousy in equal measure. His grip tightened again, making Loki’s next words come out breathless. “If I took him in my mouth, and then, once he was hard and thick upon my tongue, I allowed him to take m- _oopmh_.”

A low snarl of rage preceded what was more an attack than a kiss. Thor grabbed him by the back of his neck, and pulled his head forward until their mouths collided in an angry clash of teeth.

It was exactly what Loki wanted, not a trace of tenderness and affection, only raw passion, fuelled by lust and bitter resentment in equal measure. It was also what Loki expected – for what else was left to them but this twisted, desperate need that coursed through their veins, rancid and toxic as it were; like a wound that was left unattended far too long, until it festered, its poison spreading slowly through the flesh that still remained healthy, until it, too, grew fetid – but still the force of Thor’s kiss, the violence of it, caught Loki by surprise, his startled gasp lost in the heat of Thor’s mouth.

With his hand fisted into Loki’s hair, and the other curled around Loki’s throat, Thor angled Loki’s head as it suited him, deepening the kiss. Loki’s lips parted obediently, shaping a wicked, triumphant smirk against Thor’s mouth. Loki’s hands moved, fingers sliding across the skin of Thor’s upper arms, delighting in the play of muscles underneath. Thor shivered against him, abandoned his hold on Loki’s throat so he could curl his hand around Loki’s hip and pull him closer, grinding his hips against Loki’s.

The drag of fabric against Loki’s growing hardness as Thor kept rolling his hips, demanding and rough, against Loki’s, was just shy of too much, too soon, eliciting an embarrassing little whimper from Loki’s throat. Thor slowed the kiss, then pulled back, not far just enough so he could lean his forehead against Loki’s.

His grip on Loki’s hip softened, and he stopped grinding their hips together. “Loki,” he whispered, a low and helpless sound that resonated within Loki’s chest like a howl of a rabid animal trying to claw its way out. His gaze swept across Loki’s face – almost wild in its urgency – as if searching for something. Then, with an impatient growl, Thor reached for the mask on Loki’s face and tugged it off.

Loki blinked, startled, and for a few seconds, he could not think past the drumming beat of his heart, and the hollow ache that welled inside his chest, twisting around his lungs and squeezing tight. When he gathered control of himself once again, Loki became aware of Thor’s hand framing his face, in a gesture that was almost tender, the fury slowly fading from Thor’s eyes.

A howl rose from within Loki’s chest, only to remain wedged inside Loki’s throat, burning with bitter hate and fury of centuries’ worth of memories; all of which rested on foundations made of lies and illusions.

If Thor wanted to pretend this wretched… _thing_ between them was something else – as if the pleasure they sought in each other’s bodies has ever been something beautiful and pure – and not the base and crude instinct any animal possessed, Loki would not have it. 

His stomach churned with something vicious and harsh; the taste of it bitter on his tongue. Slowly, Loki twisted his lips into a grin. Then, with deliberate cruelty, he dug his nails into the flesh of Thor’s upper arms, drawing blood. 

Thor’s eyes flashed with something that resembled hurt for a fleeting moment. It shifted into anger almost instantly, and Loki had not enough time to savour the triumph, before he found himself being dragged into another kiss.

There was nothing gentle or sweet in it the touch of Thor’s lips, nor in the way his fingers dug into the back of Loki’s skull. Loki opened his mouth, teasing Thor’s lower lip with his tongue before digging his nails even deeper. Thor growled into Loki’s mouth, scraping his teeth along Loki’s lower lip, then biting down viciously.

When Thor pulled back, breathing heavily, his eyes glinted with lust and dark hunger, and his lips were stained with Loki’s blood.

Loki stared at Thor’s blood-stained lips, his heart hammering in his chest, its noise drowning out all else. Nothing seemed real, nothing mattered; only the need that burned inside him – dark and vicious, and focused on the one staring at Loki as if he could not decide whether he would rather tear Loki to pieces with his bare hands, or draw him into another kiss. A shudder shook Loki’s entire body when he realized he would take either of the two rather than Thor’s indifference. 

Because whatever Thor chose now, would only damn him further, strengthening the chain that bound their lives together.

Or, Loki realized with sudden terrible clarity that chilled him to the marrow of his bones, Thor could turn around and walk away, leaving Loki behind; freeing himself, while leaving Loki to writhe helplessly in the chains that bound him, like a fish caught in a fisherman’s net, but denied the luxury of a quick death. 

Loki swallowed heavily, but his throat still felt raw with dread. Then, slowly and carefully, as if trying not to alarm a dangerous beast; he lifted his right hand, his fingers skimming lightly along the length of Thor’s braid until they found what they sought.

Thor stood still, breathing harshly, his fingers unyielding against the back of Loki’s skull, but he said nothing, did nothing, allowing Loki to unclasp his mask, and let if fall, discarded, on the ground.

A breath he had not been aware of holding left Loki’s mouth as a sigh of content when he was finally allowed the full view of Thor’s face – furious, resentful, and beautiful in its misery.

“Damn you, Loki,” Thor forced through gritted teeth, sounding wrecked, and the sound of it – laden with despair and impotent anger – rung like the most beautiful music in Loki’s ears. “Damn you to Hel.”

Loki knew that sound, knew that its jagged, raw cadence spelled defeat. And Thor’s slow ruin.

“One day, certainly, but not today,” he said, grinned, bound his hand tighter around Thor’s neck. “I have far more pleasant plans for what little remains of it.”

Then they were kissing, and Loki could not tell who initiated this kiss, only that it was messy and desperate and rough, and it turned into another, and then another.

Loki did not notice Thor was steering them toward the stairs that were leading toward the balcony until he stumbled over the first one. Were it not for the iron grip Thor had on him, he would have ended in a rather ungraceful heap on the floor.

Annoyed, he pulled back, only to have Thor chase his lips, growling in protest when Loki pulled back even further.

“What is it?” Thor snapped, low and impatient, and equally as breathless.

Loki inclined his head toward the stairs behind him, arching an eyebrow. “You know, there are-”

Thor frowned, took a quick glance of the stairs, then he cut off the rest of Loki’s sentence by simply picking Loki off the floor as if Loki weighed nothing, swallowing Loki’s indignant yelp with his mouth, and proceeded to climb up the stairs. A pang of annoyance at Thor’s effortless display of strength was greatly diminished by a surge of arousal low in Loki’s groin, but still. Thor hardly needed more fuel to feed an already overgrown ego. And so, even as he locked his legs around Thor’s waist, Loki twined his fingers into Thor’s hair, tugging viciously.

Thor broke the kiss, panting harshly against Loki’s mouth, his eyes clouded with lust; a small frown of impatience and confusion drawn upon his forehead.

“I am not one of your wenches,” Loki said, but in a voice far too breathless and unsteady to be considered a warning.

Thor’s lips twitched faintly, a shadow of a smile ghosting over his face. There was nothing joyous about it. “Do you think I could ever forget?” he said, his voice thick with the weight of lies and betrayal, and blood they have drawn from each other. “Even if I tried?”

Loki found it difficult to swallow past the swell of emotions in his throat. He could feel the shift in the air between them, a shadow of who they were a long time ago rising from the ashes and dust of memories, turning the tide of lust inside Loki’s veins into something cold and brittle. Dread coiled around his throat, cold seeping into his every cell; he could see the similar change in Thor’s eyes. Loki knew where to be only the beginning, only the first step that led toward regret and shame, and Thor’s hasty retreat.

And another night Loki would spend with a hollow ache inside his chest and a persistent, unrelenting need gnawing at his very core. That Loki could- _would_ not allow. Not with victory almost within his grasp.

Loki did not try reaching for words; he did not trust his voice not to break, and, more importantly, he needed not bother. There was a far more efficient way to prevent Thor from thinking past his lust, and reaching the inevitable conclusion of how twisted, perverse, and, ultimately, damning would be to give in to temptation.

Leaning forward, Loki covered Thor’s mouth with his own, his lips moving against Thor’s with more desperate urgency than skill. Thor remained unresponsive one brief terrifying moment. Then, with a sound that was half growl and half sob, he returned the kiss; his teeth scraping at the wound he had made on Loki’s lower lip, making it bleed anew. 

Thor carried him all the way up the stairs, breaking the kiss only to take harsh panting breaths. Loki twined his fingers into Thor’s hair harder, returning each kiss with equal fervour, nipping on Thor’s lower lip, and teasing him with his tongue.

When Loki’s feet touched the ground, it was to the relative privacy of the balcony. They could not be seen from the hall, yes, but anyone could follow them with the same idea.

The balcony itself was spacious, surrounded by a railing made of solid marble. In truth, it was more a wall than a railing, its height reaching the middle of Loki’s chest. Up here, the music from the hall was muted, but its sultry beat was somehow even more alluring here, where the only lighting came from the starlit sky.

Loki barely had time to regain his balance before Thor pushed him against the marble railing, abandoning Loki’s lips in exchange of tracing a path down Loki’s jaw and neck with his mouth and teeth.

Thor crowded Loki against the hard marble with his body, reaching with his right hand underneath Loki’s tunic, following the faint outline of Loki’s pectoral muscles, and sliding up the contours of his ribs, leaving a trail of bruises and heat in the wake of his fingers. 

A low sound of frustration preceded that of fabric tearing between impatient fingers as Thor bared more of Loki’s neck for his greedy mouth. Loki could not muster sufficient resentment, nor enough breath to scold Thor, satisfying himself instead with sliding his hands underneath Thor’s tunic, delighting in the feel of all that hard muscle, coiling and uncoiling underneath his blunt fingertips, and trembling in the wake of Loki’s nails; the former drawing a moan, and the latter a hiss from Thor, both muffled against Loki’s neck.

Grinning widely, Loki arched his neck, grinding his hips against Thor’s, but that only earned him a warning growl and Thor’s fingers curving around his hipbone, keeping him in place. Loki swallowed a moan, breathing shallowly as Thor continued to nip and suck at his neck, stifling a whimper when Thor closed his teeth over his collarbone, just shy of breaking the skin.

A low, breathless chuckle left Loki’s mouth at the thought of dozens upon dozens of marks in the form of bite-marks, scrapes and bruises Thor seemed determined to leave on upon Loki’s body.

As if the brand he had left on Loki’s heart was not enough. 

The realization seared through him, branding-hot and razor sharp, tearing through the haze of lust that was draped across his thoughts. This was not what Loki wanted. Not what he sought. To merely stand there, like an inexperienced boy, lost to the pleasure Thor coaxed from his body, reduced to no more than a mere object of Thor’s lust and fury, bearing Thor’s marks of punishment and possession all across his body. Perhaps Thor even meant to take him there, against the hard marble, out in the open where anyone could come and see.

And if someone came? Would they know? And if they did, what would they see? A sin or a tragedy? Perhaps even a just punishment. Or merely one man rutting into the other with wild abandon.

No. That was not what Loki wanted. He wanted to see Thor fall apart, to leave a mark that would last much longer than any of those Thor has already made on Loki’s skin.

Sliding hid hands from underneath Thor’s tunic, he wrapped one around Thor’s neck, while he sneaked the other between their bodies, cupping Thor’s clothed erection.

Thor released a low groan, bucking reflexively into Loki’s loose grip, before forcibly stilling himself, panting harshly against the crook of Loki’s shoulder.

Loki leaned down, flicking his tongue against the shell of Thor’s ear, his fingers continuing to tease Thor through his breeches, providing just enough pressure to draw a frustrated growl from Thor’s mouth, his fingers digging painfully in the flesh above Loki’s hipbone.

“So you have missed me, haven’t you,” Loki whispered into Thor’s ear, knowing Thor could feel the shape of each softly spoken word, his stomach tightening with wicked glee as the last one left his mouth as no more than a breathy sigh, “… _brother_?” 

A pained sound, like that of a wounded animal, tore from Thor’s throat a second before he lifted his head, his fingers curving around Loki’s throat.

Thor’s eyes gleamed with dark fury, his jaw clenched tight. “That is enough,” Thor forced through gritted teeth, tightening his grip around Loki’s throat for emphasis.

“Is the truth no longer to your taste, Thor?” Loki asked in honeyed voice. Then, with deliberate care, he tightened his grip around Thor’s erect length and moved his hand.

Thor’s lashes fluttered, a groan leaving Thor’s lips before he could stop it. “Shut up, Loki,” Thor demanded, but his voice came out brittle and jagged; not even fury could lend it the conviction and strength Thor strove for.

But that was the way with lies, they were only as good as the one who told them. And Thor, bless his wretchedly noble soul, has never been a good liar.

Not where it mattered the most.

Loki grinned; wide and wolfish, then, with one last tug, he pulled his hand away from Thor’s erect length, noting with delight the way Thor’s hips twitched in an aborted movement of seeking lost contact. He chanced a glance at Thor’s face. It was drawn into a grimace; immense frustration and strain of holding onto rapidly crumbling control etched onto his features. Loki felt an almost dizzying need to lean forward, and lick each and every line of that ridiculously handsome face, and taste the misery that churned underneath.

Loki curled his free hand against Thor’s chest. Then, slowly, he unfurled his fingers from around Thor’s neck. He took his time, his eyes fixed on Thor’s the entire time, watching, hungry for every flare of desire and fury; for every new fissure in Thor’s self-control. Loki dragged his fingers down the warm and smooth skin of Thor’s neck, pausing over the pulse point, smiling in satisfaction when he felt it match his own heartbeat: erratic and wild. With no small amount of regret, Loki forced his fingers to continue their slow descend down the expanse of Thor’s neck and chest in a parody of a caress, curling them into a fist next to his other hand. 

Tilting his head, Loki studied Thor’s expression with a mixture of amusement and wonder, and the familiar tang of poisonous need to bring him down onto his knees; ruined and defeated, to spread his own taint over that shining perfection, and drag him closer to the shadows and gutter where Loki dwelled. 

“Give me a reason,” Loki said, his lips curling over his teeth at the way Thor carried himself, defiant and proud despite all the ways his body betrayed him, as if he thought he could still win in this game when not even Loki knew for certain what the game _was_. “Come now, Thor, surely even _you_ can come up with something that would persuade me to keep silent.” 

Thor frowned, confusion flashing across his features. His grip around Loki’s throat loosened, giving Loki the opening he needed. He pushed hard against Thor’s chest, using both magic and brute strength, noting, bitterly, that it resulted in Thor stumbling back barely a step. But it was enough. Exploiting Thor’s momentary confusion, Loki moved forward and curled his fists into Thor’s tunic, and reversed their positions, pushing Thor against the marble. Then, with a grin that felt near manic on his lips, and his stomach coiled tight with the thrill of anticipation, Loki backed away as step.

The sight of Thor’s face was intoxicating, and Loki would have gladly stood there, drinking it in until Ragnarök came; the way confusion bleed into an almost childlike hurt and betrayal, only to be replaced by a steely resolve that shifted into a wide-eyed shock when Loki sank to his knees in front of him, his hands coming to rest on Thor’s thighs, smoothing his palms over Thor’s legs.

Loki blinked up at Thor, schooling his face into a near beatific expression. He leaned forward, just an inch, his hot breath ghosting over the prominent bulge in Thor’s breeches, delighting in the twitch of muscles underneath his splayed fingers. He rewarded Thor by sliding his hands to the underside of his thighs. He swallowed a snicker when Thor parted his legs, allowing Loki better access. Loki was fairly certain he had done it without a thought; chasing the promise of pleasure, uncaring of what it ultimately meant for him. 

“ _Can_ you give me a reason to be silent?” Loki asked softly, his voice dripping with dark delight, and wicked promises. He leaned further, until a hair’s breadth of space separated his lips from Thor’s erection, and then he stopped. He inhaled deeply, the musky scent of Thor’s arousal heady on his tongue, sending a jolt of blazing heat straight to his groin, reminding Loki of his own hardness, and how precariously close to the edge of an abyss he was leading them. There was still a chance that he would be the one to fall down instead of Thor. He swallowed thickly, waited a beat until he was certain his voice would not fail him. “Well, Thor?”

Thor’s expression was that of utter misery and desperate need; every twitch of the powerful muscles underneath Loki’s teasing fingers, every harsh, uneven breath that left Thor’s mouth was a testament of the mighty, but ultimately doomed, battle Thor’s pride and reason waged against the call of his blood.

It was profoundly ironic that Loki has never felt more Thor’s equal than in that moment, on his knees on the hard ground; like a common whore servicing his master. But they both knew – Loki with vicious, malicious glee, and Thor with the dawning horror of realization – who had the power in that moment.

For what Loki offered, Thor could not simply _take_.

A strangled sound of utter misery tore from Thor’s throat, followed by trembling fingers sliding into Loki’s hair. “Damn you, Loki,” Thor said in a half-choked, jagged voice that made Loki’s heart soar. “ _Please_.”

Triumph seared through Loki’s chest, leaving him breathless for a sliver of moment. He grinned, wide and triumphant, relishing in the flash of shame in Thor’s gaze. But it was but a faint echo of desire and hunger that burned like wildfire in Thor’s eyes, his fingers tightening in Loki’s hair.

“You needed only ask,” Loki said softly, almost joyfully, gazing up at Thor as he unlaced the bindings on Thor’s breeches and freed his erect length, brushing his thumb against the head of Thor’s cock, “brother.”

Thor squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back, his answering groan resembling more that of pain than pleasure, but to Loki it sounded like victory.


End file.
